


Points in Time

by DownToTheSea



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 19:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14775506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownToTheSea/pseuds/DownToTheSea
Summary: A few of the moments throughout time where Lucy and Flynn touched, some small and others significant.





	Points in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr prompt: "Five times Garcy casually touched and one time Garcy deliberately touched" Starts during 2x06 and continues on past the finale. Enjoy!
> 
> (Contains a brief reference to Lucy's plan to destroy the Mothership in 2x01.)

The sun was shining brightly when they disembarked from the lifeboat in 1936. Lucy squinted a little while climbing out after Rufus and Flynn. Her eyes were used to the dim bunker, and it always took a minute to acclimate to the sudden change in light.

Flynn jumped to the ground easily, and Lucy tried not to shoot him an envious look. For the unfortunate team members who weren't 6’4” ex-spies, getting out of the lifeboat without the assistance of the steps back home was kind of a pain.

In Salem, it had been more than that. Lucy had made the leap without much trouble on the way out, but there was no way she could have gotten back in with her arm the way it was on the return journey.

She had tried anyway, attempting to climb up after Rufus, but before she'd even made it off the ground pain shot up her arm with a vengeance, and she fell back with a muffled groan.

“Lucy?” Rufus had called, a spike of worry replacing the fog he'd been sunk in since they met back up with him. He poked his head out of the lifeboat, and between him catching hold of her good arm and Flynn lifting her up by her waist towards the door, she made it safely in.

Her arm was a lot better now ( _ almost _ as recovered as she'd told Agent Christopher it was) and the terrain, an even field of soft grass, was a lot better. So she was kind of surprised when Flynn turned to her once he was on the ground.

“Care for a lift?” he asked quietly, almost drowned out by Connor waxing poetic a few feet away.

Lucy looked at his extended arms for a second, then, mentally shrugging, stepped into them. She figured it had to be better than yet another hard introduction between her ankles and the ground.

Sure enough, Flynn held her as light as a feather, spinning her neatly away from the lifeboat before setting her down on the grass.

There was really no reason for the spinning; he could have just hoisted her off the door and put her down. But this felt different than it had in Salem. Then, it had been a matter of practicality. Now, Lucy could swear that just for a moment, she saw a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

And for that same moment, twirling through the air with the wind on her face, Lucy felt almost weightless.

 

In one smooth motion, Lucy took Flynn’s arm and tucked it into hers. His eyes widened slightly, but apart from that gave no reaction, and even that was probably only visible to her. Leaning against his arm in an affectionate way, Lucy pasted a fond but put-upon smile on her face. “My husband and I,” she said apologetically. “We're having an argument, maybe you can settle it for us?”

The hapless museum employee looked at them with a long-suffering expression. Lucy would have felt sorry for him if he hadn't been blocking the door that Wyatt and Rufus had been trying to get in for the last twenty minutes.

There was an old manuscript in this museum they suspected contained information about Rittenhouse sleeper agents, but it was currently locked away in storage. Jiya had already disabled the cameras, but this guy kept standing in front of the door that led downstairs, tapping away at his phone. So, a distraction was needed.

Lucy giggled and tugged Flynn farther down the room, taking them all closer to the exhibit on the Salem witch trials. “He says there was a UFO sighting back then,” she said, waving towards the exhibit. “I say that's completely ridiculous. Right?”

She turned back to the employee, his face carefully schooled into a “must not roll eyes at the visitors” mask of polite neutrality. Behind him, she saw Wyatt give her a thumbs up as he disappeared through the doorway after Rufus.

After she'd let the man explain that as a matter of fact, a strange object  _ had  _ been sighted in the area but experts believed the reports to only be more fabrication against the accused witches, Lucy and Flynn walked off to the entrance, the job in Wyatt and Rufus’s hands now.

“Experts, huh?” Flynn smirked at her. “Want to let him know it was us? You’re the academic, after all.”

“Shh,” Lucy said, but she laughed anyway. Her arm was still entwined in Flynn's. After the initial shock, he’d relaxed, even leaned into it a little. Lucy curled her hand into the crook of his elbow. All to keep up the cover, of course.

Lucy kept it up all the way to the van where Agent Christopher was waiting. Just to be on the safe side.

 

“I can't believe Rittenhouse wanted to kill J. R. R. Tolkien,” Jiya said for the twentieth time, still sounding just as personally affronted as the first time. After hearing what the target was, she had insisted both she and Rufus come along.

“I mean, they’re basically the embodiment of pure evil,” Rufus said. “Are we really surprised? Although hey, if there was no Lord of the Rings, we wouldn’t have to sit through like ten hours of the movies – ”

“Hey!” Jiya objected, laughing.

Lucy nodded. “Just think about the impact it would have on our popular culture landscape. It pretty much popularized an entire genre, not to mention inspired all sorts of later authors... ”

“No Harry Potter,” Jiya speculated darkly.

“Yeah, but there's got to be better ways of taking over the world,” Flynn put in from his place next to Lucy. 

Lucy hummed in agreement.

Not that anyone was really complaining. They'd found the sleeper agent with hardly any problems, and the few days spent in 1920s Oxford and the English countryside had done wonders for everyone's mood. Even though it had been months ago, losing Rufus (temporarily, thank God) had still been weighing heavily on them all.

“Maybe Emma just really hates Game of Thrones,” Rufus offered.

Lucy opened her mouth to say that Emma would probably fit right in in Westeros. But before she could get any farther, there was a sudden booming crack from behind them and something whistled past her ear. It took Lucy just a second to register what was happening, as she heard it slamming into a nearby tree trunk.

Apparently that had been a second longer than it had taken Flynn. On what must have been pure instinct, he caught her around the waist and launched them both behind the tree the bullet had just struck. It wasn't wide enough to fully cover them, and Flynn curled his body around her, pressing her back into his chest so that she was shielded almost completely.

Rapid gunfire followed them, several more bullets striking the tree. It was unmistakably coming from a modern weapon. “Another sleeper,” Flynn hissed, swearing under his breath.

Lucy glanced frantically around for Rufus and Jiya, and was relieved to see that they had made it to shelter behind a fallen trunk. Jiya dared a look out from its side, her eyes widening when she saw Lucy and Flynn trapped in their less than ideal position.

Keeping one arm around her, Flynn made to go for the gun in his jacket with the other. This was a difficult endeavor since Lucy was blocking it, and there was some awkward wriggling around on both of their parts before he extracted it.

“We can’t stay here for much longer,” Flynn whispered to her. “Get to Rufus and Jiya. I’ll cover you.”

Lucy nodded. Her heart was pounding in her ears, not only out of fear for her own safety. Before he moved, she reached down and gripped his wrist. She felt him freeze behind her.

“Flynn.” She didn’t look back up at him. “Good luck.”

If he was going to respond, the abrupt shot from their right would have stopped him. She and Flynn looked over in unison. Jiya knelt behind the tree trunk, having risen just high enough above it to give her a line of sight for the gun she held wrapped in both hands.

They shook just a little, belying the hard set to her mouth Lucy had begun to see after her three years living in the past, but they must have been steady enough when she took the shot; there was no return fire. The woods fell silent.

Flynn leaned over and looked behind them, then his arm loosened but didn't quite let go, since Lucy was still clutching his wrist. She dropped it hurriedly.

“Pretty good,” he told Jiya when they went over to her and Rufus. Lucy glared at him, because clearly Jiya was the furthest thing from proud of herself, and he had the grace to look as if he realized that maybe that hadn't been the best thing to say.

Jiya brushed off their inquiries and said she was just glad she could help while Flynn and Lucy were playing Twister. Rufus, who hadn't been able to see them past Jiya, went through a variety of facial expressions at this.

Still, Lucy figured Jiya might be more amenable to opening up when it was just her or Rufus. As much as they'd gotten weirdly fond of Flynn, he was still the odd one out sometimes.

After taking care of the second sleeper agent, he'd fallen behind the rest of them with gun drawn this time, clearly on the lookout for more. Lucy kept twisting to check that he was still there. The attack earlier had rattled her, and as unlikely as it was, she couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of another. Flynn’s thoughts were apparently running along the same track, which had to be why he’d put himself at the rear, right in the line of fire. Her stomach lurched at the idea, her heart speeding up again.

She shook her head. She was shaken from earlier, that was all, and had been on this mission for too long. What she needed was a hot shower and some terrible 2010s reality television.

Somehow, when she thought about getting back, Flynn popped up everywhere in her mental bunker: watching movies on the couch with her, making her dinner and teasing her about her dreadful cooking, his room which was slowly morphing into hers too, as many nights as she spent there.

As dank and outdated and generally terrible as the place was, all Lucy wanted to do right now was go home.

 

Lucy was trying very hard not to think about where she was.

It was a different year, and a different place, but it was the same war. The same uniforms, the same stench of decaying bodies, the seemingly never ending sounds of conflict.

The last time Lucy had been here, she'd been a captive of Rittenhouse, of her mother. She'd killed for them here. The last time she had been here, she had been fully prepared not to make it back alive.

“Lucy?” Flynn asked, his voice low but enough to jolt her out of her dark memories. She looked up with a start and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

It was different now, she told herself firmly. She wasn't alone now. She had her team to watch her back and keep her afloat.

“How much do you know?” she asked suddenly. Wyatt and Rufus were further down the trench, talking with the officer in charge, so they wouldn't hear what Flynn had to say.

“About what? World War One? Not as much as you, I'm sure – ”

“About – when I was here before.” She could now see the genuine attempt to cheer her up, and she appreciated it, but she wanted an answer. She wasn't even sure why; maybe because if Flynn already knew, then she wouldn't have to tell him how being here was getting under her skin, making her heart race and her stomach churn.

He hesitated. “Not much,” he said at last, still quiet. “You, uh, didn't go into details. I didn't even know when it would happen. If I had, I – ” He stopped abruptly.

Lucy nodded, swallowing down her disappointment.

Flynn paused. “Lucy,” he said again, slowly, like he was struggling for words. “You know… It wasn't in the journal, but if you – if you need to – ”

He was cut off by Wyatt and Rufus rejoining them with the commander in tow. Lucy gave him a wry look – apparently getting interrupted was their curse or something – but she tucked the offer he had been about to make into the back of her mind, letting it quiet a little of the turmoil there. Flynn would understand. He wouldn’t shy away; he would listen, and hold her if she needed him to. With Flynn, she was safe, in every possible way.

The intelligence gleaned from the commanding officer led them to a small town a few miles away from the lines, where Rittenhouse was waiting.

Before the action started, Flynn and Wyatt gave her and Rufus each one of their spare guns. “All hands on deck,” Wyatt said grimly.

Flynn put his into her hands himself, curling her fingers around the handle. He held them there for a moment and looked at her like he wanted to tell her something, but eventually let go and muttered, “If Rufus accidentally blows someone's head off, it better not be mine.”

(Their hands brushed again when he took it back from her after the mission was over. Flynn thanked her for shooting a Rittenhouse thug off of him a great deal more sincerely than he had thanked Wyatt, and in fact had an odd half-soft, half-entirely-too-appreciative gleam in his eyes that Lucy found she enjoyed a lot, even if it made her cheeks turn a little warm.)

 

“Whoever designed this stuff was a member of Rittenhouse,” Lucy muttered. Maybe she was being a little unfair, but really, at the moment she longed for a time period where it  _ didn't  _ take her half an hour to get dressed. After struggling with the multitude of skirts and petticoats and sundry, she was finally almost done, and not a minute too soon.

Rufus and Wyatt were already changed and off on reconnaissance duty. Flynn had been outside, but he'd called in softly through the door a minute ago that he thought he'd spotted a sleeper and was going to investigate. Lucy had wanted to tell him not to go alone, but she couldn't exactly follow him out onto the streets of 1870s New York half-dressed, not without calling immediate attention to them. And if there was a sleeper agent out there, she'd only put them both in danger by doing so.

Her hair was still entirely wrong for the period, but at this point it could go to hell. She hurried to the door, one hand twisting her hair up into a very messy approximation of a bun, and wrenched it open –

Only to stumble right into Flynn's chest. He didn't budge as she ran smack into him, except to reach up and steady her by the arm. “Going somewhere?” he inquired.

Lucy cleared her throat, recovering her balance and meeting Flynn's gaze a little more fiercely than necessary. Her hair slipped out of her hand and fell back down around her face. “What happened with the sleeper?”

He shrugged. “Wasn't a sleeper.”

“Please tell me you figured this out before beating him to a pulp?”

Flynn snorted. “What, did I turn into an amateur while I wasn't looking?” He held up a wallet. “I did get us a little spending money though.”

Relieved in more ways than one, Lucy snorted too. “I don't think we'll need it.”

“You never know. And if not, maybe it'll be worth something on eBay when we get back. Vintage, mint condition.”

While he was talking, Lucy was still absently fiddling with her hair. She looked up to see him watching her curiously.

“I just, uh – I was in a hurry,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you'd like to finish, I'll be outside waiting for the dream team to get back.”

“Wait.” Lucy hurried after him. “I'm done, I'll come with you.”

Flynn turned around and looked pointedly at where she was in the middle of pinning up her hair.

“Mostly done,” she clarified. Then: “Oh my God, is that blood on your suit?”

“What?” Flynn frowned and looked down. “No, I told you, I…” He stopped, looking back up at Lucy with a half-smile as she started laughing.

“I got you,” she said gleefully, still laughing.

Flynn acknowledged this with a nod, the smile widening.

Lucy was enjoying herself far too much. But then, it had been a while since she'd felt like that, so she was determined to make the most of it. She tilted her head up to look at Flynn.

“You can buy my silence for a price,” she informed him.

“Rufus had been making you watch mobster movies, hasn't he?”

“Absolutely.”

Flynn laughed then, and the sound was so warm and sudden and… sweet, that Lucy made a snap decision about her price that she would almost certainly regret in about two minutes.

“Alright,” he said, that same warmth in his eyes when he met hers. “What is it?”

Wordlessly, she lifted her hair and raised her eyebrows.

Flynn considered this for a moment, with a look that she imagined she must have been matching: amused, mischievous, and not a little uncertain. Then he nodded again and stepped behind her.

He stood at arm's length, but Lucy imagined she could still feel the heat emanating from his body. She drew in a breath, eyes closing.

His fingers ghosted over her neck and hair as he gathered it up and pinned it. His touch was light and soft, but felt almost electric against her skin. Lucy swallowed, leaning back involuntarily into him.

He was done in just a couple of minutes, possibly driven by the same impulse that had quickened her heart for entirely non-Rittenhouse-related reasons.

Flynn smoothed down her hair and stepped back. “There you go,” he said, although his voice was so quiet and thick Lucy could barely make out the words.

“Thanks,” she whispered. The room seemed unnaturally still. Some kind of energy hummed between them; Lucy wondered what would happen if she turned around, if she saw those green eyes gazing steadily at her… 

Then Rufus and Wyatt tumbled into the room bearing the news that they were being chased by a sleeper agent  _ and  _ the cops. The spell was broken, and Lucy wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

 

Wyatt checked them into a crappy, no-questions-asked hotel on the edge of town. The sounds of traffic were barely blocked out by the thin walls, the night lights of the city dancing through the faded window curtains. Whoever was in the room below them was blasting the radio: “In the Still of the Night,” which floated up through the floor and would likely make sleeping near impossible.

Lucy didn't care about any of it.

Rufus had an arm around her, but when the door closed she shrugged it off, moving mechanically to the bed and sitting down. She didn't want to meet their eyes. Whatever their opinion of Flynn had become, they would be sympathetic for her sake, and it would only make her hurt more.

So she stared at the threadbare carpet, wrapping her arms around herself and letting numbness wash over her. Her eyes burned, but they were dry; she couldn't cry no matter how much she wanted to.

_ Flynn would understand.  _ He would have. But he wasn't here.

Rufus and Wyatt sat next to her. “Lucy,” Wyatt began.

“Don't,” she whispered. “Please.”

They fell silent. Then, cautiously, Rufus slid a hand onto her shoulder and rubbed a little. A minute later, Wyatt followed suit.

Lucy closed her eyes, allowing herself this small comfort.

It was supposed to be just another mission. This time Rittenhouse had traveled back to the 1950s to insinuate themselves into the television industry. (“I thought they were in charge of Fox already,” Rufus had said.)

They'd broken into network headquarters, trying to find out which of their many employees was Rittenhouse. But Emma and a team of agents were there waiting for them.

They bolted for the elevator, Wyatt and Flynn shooting over their shoulders as they ran. Rufus and Lucy staggered into the elevator first, then Wyatt, who slammed the 1st floor button. Flynn was only a step behind him. He could have made it. He  _ should  _ have made it.

Lucy had turned, staying in the corner to avoid the gunfire. She saw the doors closing, and Flynn running towards them. Her hand reached out instinctively.

Then he'd stumbled and fallen, clutching at his leg. Even from that distance she could see blood already dripping to the floor.

Flynn looked straight at her, the expression on his face – resigned and almost tender – sending a cold jolt of horror through her entire body.  _ No,  _ she thought. He was only a foot away. He could still make it. The doors had so little space between them now, but she could still hold them open. She'd drag him in herself if she had to. She'd go back in time and make sure this hallway was constructed three feet shorter. Anything, she thought desperately, she'd do anything if he could only make it into the damn elevator. Next to her. Safe.

_ “Flynn!”  _ she'd shouted, and lunged for him, but Wyatt and Rufus held her back.

“Lucy,” he had whispered.

The doors closed.

Lucy had screamed his name again, throwing herself against the doors and pounding on them like they would open again and let him in if she tried hard enough.

But even then she'd known there was nothing she could do. He was trapped in the corridor with Emma and half a dozen Rittenhouse agents, already hurt. He didn't stand a chance.

A storm of gunfire erupted above them, harsh in her rushing ears, before it slid away into silence.

She had sagged, allowing Rufus and Wyatt to pull her forward when the doors opened, rousing her enough to run with them to safety.

Lucy opened her eyes, trying to focus on the ugly wallpaper, or the mold stains on the ceiling, or anything other than Flynn's eyes burning into hers, as she tried to tell him a million things in a single second.

“I'm sorry,” Rufus finally murmured, still rubbing her back.

Those few gentle words were enough to break the dam. Lucy collapsed onto his shoulder, choking sobs faster than she could draw in air for them.

Wyatt's hand was still on her arm, and she knew he and Rufus were exchanging worried looks over her head, but at the moment she didn't care. Flynn was gone.

“He's gone,” she repeated out loud. It came out as little more than a hoarse breath. “He's gone…”

She didn't even notice Wyatt tensing, his hand slipping off her shoulder as he rose to his feet and crossed to the door.

“Lucy!” he called a moment later.

“Oh come on, what no– ” Rufus froze, letting out an audible gasp. “Lucy,” he said urgently.

Annoyance broke into her jumbled, ragged thoughts. Whatever it was, couldn't it wait until she was done crying her eyes out? Wearily, she lifted her head and turned it towards the door.

Then it was her turn to freeze, her heart jumping into her throat. For a moment she stayed where she was, immobilized in pure shock.

Flynn limped into the center of the room, covered in blood, one hand pressed to his side. “You guys really aren't into luxurious accommodations, are you?”

His eyes connected with Lucy's.

“Flynn,” she breathed, and hurtled across the room.

She launched herself up at first, her feet dangling in the air as she buried her face in his neck. But since it was apparent he couldn't really sustain her weight at the moment, she let herself sink back down to solid ground, pressing her cheek to his chest and wrapping both arms around him.

Neither of his arms seemed to be working at full capacity, but he managed to touch Lucy's shoulder lightly and bent his head, his nose brushing over her hair.

“Lucy.” His voice was so very soft, his accent stretching out her name in an achingly familiar way. Ten minutes ago, she'd thought she would never hear it again. She held on tighter.

Flynn let out a faint groan, strangled in a way that made it clear he was trying not to let her hear it. She stepped back immediately.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry,” she said, tripping over her words in her hurry. Flynn opened his mouth, but she rushed on past him. “You're hurt, are you – do you need – ”

“I'm fine,” he said, giving her a grimacing sort of smile. Any relief she might have drawn from this was sort of lessened by the fact that he still looked like he'd just been through a warzone, and was clearly struggling to stay on his feet.

Lucy pulled him over to the bed she'd just been sitting on and he not only went without protest, but collapsed on it without another word. His definition of “fine” apparently.

“No offense, because I'm really glad you're alive and everything, which is a sentence I  _ definitely  _ did not ever expect to utter, but… How?” Rufus asked. “Are you actually a robot assassin from the future?”

“Ah, you’ve discovered my secret,” Flynn croaked, sarcastic even while coated in blood. He turned his head to Lucy. “Actually, it's thanks to you. And Emma.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Emma? Last I checked she hated your guts.”

“Oh, she does.” With her assistance, he struggled up to a sitting position. “But she hates you more. She made the mistake of running off after you and leaving her hired thugs to deal with me.”

“There was a whole team of agents there,” Wyatt put in. “You're telling us you took them all out?”

Flynn didn't take his eyes off Lucy. “I was highly motivated. Who knows, maybe fate was on my side.” This was in the same sarcastic tone, but there was sincerity in his expression. The journal, Lucy realized. Had he  _ known  _ this was going to happen? Or did he just know that whatever it was, he would make it out alive?

“Details later,” Lucy said, pushing this off to process at another time. “Right now, we need to get you patched up and back to the lifeboat.”

This wasn't quite as easy as it sounded, but by some miracle, they managed it. Maybe Flynn had been right about fate being on their side.

It was much later by the time they were alone again. Lucy sat next to him in the tiny infirmary, catching up on the recent changes to history from their last few trips.

Glancing at him over her tablet, Lucy let her gaze trail slowly over the dark hair falling over his forehead, down the line of his jaw and over his face.

Leaning forward, Lucy slid her hand over his where it lay next to him. Flynn's eyes opened in surprise, but he didn't pull his hand back.

She was guessing that hadn't been in the journal. Which was just as well; she had a feeling she had a few more surprises in store for him.

But for now, what mattered was that they were safe, and their mission continued. She squeezed his hand a little, and smiled when he turned his hand and squeezed back. There would be time for everything else later.


End file.
